


Ancient Symbols

by AquaFontem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Sharing a Bed, Tiny Little Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaFontem/pseuds/AquaFontem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly woke that morning, she really regretted getting into bed with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ancient Symbols

**Author's Note:**

> This just a little something I found on my computer, as part of a case fic that never actually got written. As a result, it's not set up very well, so, for clarity's sake, Molly and Sherlock are in a hotel outside of London in this, and are forced to share a bed. It's harmless fluff really, but I thought I'd post it here, because it might make you smile.

When Molly woke that morning, she really regretted getting into bed with Sherlock Holmes.

They’d managed to fuse over the course of the night, and there was barely an inch of space between their bodies.

His chest was pressed against her back, his knee clamped between her legs, and one of his hands had crept under her t-shirt to splay across her bare stomach.

Molly was not unaffected.

He was still fast asleep: his warm breath cascading down her spine as he exhaled steadily. She tingled everywhere from the contact, simultaneously desperate to be free, and hoping that he wouldn’t let her go.

Molly looked at the clock on the bedside table, as if the green numbers would morph into a message telling her what to do, forming the words ‘stay’ or ‘go’, bleeping urgently when she refused to heed to the latter.

Alas, the 4:00 on the display remained unerringly constant, only serving to taunt her with the information that she could do with a few more hours sleep, even though she knew this was impossible considering exactly whose hand she was clasping against her chest.

Her gaze shot down, and sure enough her fingers were interlocked with Sherlock’s, his strong arm wrapped around the curve of her breast where she had presumably dragged it.

Molly slipped her hand out of his, flexing the fingers that were still asleep and sharing a look of horror with the picture of Jesus nailed to the wall. The picture of Jesus that bored into her with disapproval when Sherlock’s released hand found purchase on the nearest thing it could find: her breast itself.

She burrowed her head into the pillow, aware that she should be embarrassed, but finding it very difficult considering the growing dampness between her thighs, and the revelation that Sherlock Holmes was _very_ tactile in bed.

It was torture: being this close to him, in so intimate a position that she hadn’t dared build this into her (many) fantasies about the consulting detective. It was torture knowing that if he should wake, he would throw himself as far away from her as possible, and likely never speak to her again.

It was this notion more than anything that forced Molly into action. She couldn’t lie here idly (no matter how much she wanted to) knowing how awkward it would make him if he found out exactly where he had grabbed her.

She flashed a look at the Jesus on the wall, communicating to him that she had recovered her common sense, before prising both of Sherlock’s hands off her person.

She immediately felt cold, and she noticed that he’d managed to push down the duvet so that her entire torso was exposed. The reasons for staying were increasing exponentially, and it took all of Molly’s willpower to wriggle away. It was done with an enthusiasm that she didn’t feel, and she regretted it instantly when she rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor, jolting awake the one person that she wanted least to disturb.

‘Molly?’ His voice was heavy with sleep, and she didn’t respond for a while, her face pressed against the carpet with eyes shut tight in the hope that she would disappear. ‘Molly, are you all right?’

‘Mmph,’ she mumbled into the floor, her legs still hoisted onto the bed where they were caught in the sheets. ‘No,’ she whimpered, and he chuckled, placing his hands on her hips and gently lifting her back onto the bed.

Molly covered her face with her hands when her head met the pillow, peeking through her fingers to see that he was staring at her through the darkness.

‘Are you all right?’ He repeated, and she nodded, her hands floating onto the mattress, inches from his chest.

‘Sorry- sorry I woke you,’ she said slowly, the words drifting into the air with her breathing, as if properly enunciating them would break something fragile hanging between them.

His eyes were shutting slowly, and she noticed that his face looked softer than usual, framed even more beautifully by his hair.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he murmured, dragging the covers back over them both, and instantly making her sleepy.

Perhaps that was why she did it, as her drowsiness began to numb her rationale, making her forget about where she was and who she was with.

Her hand stretched out towards him, brushing a curl away from his forehead as it skimmed his eyes, her hand falling against his pillow at the exact moment when her own lids slipped shut.

At the exact moment when Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, the ghost of her fingertip lingering on his temple for a transient moment.

He watched her while she slept, the shadows curving around her cheekbones and the slight parting of her lips, where his eyes were drawn almost every time he looked at her.

He traced signs onto the back of her hand, the one beside his head, inhaling her exhaled sighs as he told her how he felt with the ancient symbols.

Then he turned onto his back, taking her hand with him and resting his fingers on the soft skin of her palm.

Sherlock closed his eyes, listening to her breathing beside him, taking them out of this hotel room as he pretended that every night at Baker Street was like this one.

Sleep wouldn’t claim him, so after a while he swiveled his head to look at her, waiting for the shadows to disperse and for morning to come.

**Author's Note:**

> On Tumblr @ AquaFontem


End file.
